Ricochet
by wildthing0088
Summary: It takes multiple shots to knock them askew, but never off-course. However, the new trail is not easily trodden. Caskett. Post 501; rated T for multiple boo-boos and some naughty words.


_Warning! Gratuitous spoilers abound up to 501, and milder spoilers for all four Nikki Heat novels and both Derrick Storm comics. If you haven't read them yet, go. Do it now. _

_Well? __Did you read them yet? (I know, right?! SO AWESOME.)_

_As noted, this chapter features some violence/gore. Anyone with a weak constitution and/or love of ketchup may want to skim. _

_Disclaimer: Castle and all related characters is property of Beacon/ExperiMental Pictures and ABC Studios. I own but the assortment of letters and words used to manipulate previously mentioned characters and/or sexual tension. Don't bother suing, you won't get much. _

* * *

It was a maze.

The neighborhood of old brick warehouses that lined the waterfront had once been a bustling shipping dispatch center, filled with trucks, boxes and boats, hard-accented union members pushing away at packed pallets. It was a small community, one that had zero chance of outlasting the downsizing, outsourcing, and foreign buyouts that followed the recession. Companies closed down or moved to cheaper leases in New Jersey that didn't offer a view of the Financial District. The housing bubble burst and squalid smell of the East River meeting the Hudson kept the hip developers away, leaving the big empty buildings to squatters, seagulls, and drug rings that would occasionally ensnare a murder victim. The parked brand spankin' new royal blue Charger with official plates all but screamed cop, (not quite as loud as a cruiser with full lights & siren, but damn close) the NYPD detective and her tag-along-writer-gone assistant-volunteer-detective emerging from a rusted loading dock door, half a kilo of cocaine bagged and tucked safely in the inside pocket of the writer's overcoat, proof of what they'd found. It was a mere twenty-five yards to the sedan, a walk the pair could easily pass while bickering like the married couple they both vehemently denied they'd become.

The loud pop of a far-off gunshot echoed throughout the alley. Detective Kate Beckett immediately went for her gun, her partner Richard Castle flinching while awkwardly throwing out an arm to protect her from an assailant neither of them could pinpoint. The deserted structures surrounding them heightened the echo of the shot, leaving both cop and writer blindly scanning the rooftops for any movement, any unusual blip or bump of a sniper in hiding.

"C'mon, Castle." Kate lowered her weapon and broke into a controlled jog, finger still on the trigger, ready to fire. Castle imitated her pace, following in line behind her, his eyes darting between the back of her head and the surrounding rooftops. The invisible shooter was no coincidence, the brick of blow knocking against the writer's hip as he ran. The loud shot with no discernable source meant the gun was high overhead, with a ready view of the pair leaving the crime scene, sandwiched between brick walls almost three stories high.

To say they were sitting ducks would be an understatement.

Another shot. Castle jumped.

"Nnrgh!" Kate stumbled, her left leg suddenly lame.

"Kate!" Castle was all reaction, throwing himself on top of her mid-fall, pushing them both into the wall just to their left. Aside from an old plastic bag and a generous sprinkling of cigarette butts, there was no cover in sight. Castle tried his best to stand over her, keeping as much of his wounded partner hidden from sight between his torso and the wall. "Kate?" She sat up against the bricks, her hand still clutching her gun; her eyes squeezed shut, teeth sunk into her lower lip in a low-tech effort to manage the pain.

Even with a bullet in her leg, she was still kind of cute. Not that he'd reassure of that at the moment- she still had her gun.

"Kate, Kate!" He pressed his hand to the hole in her jeans, a warm gush against his palm advancing the burgundy stain in the denim.

"Castle." It was barely above a whisper, accentuated by a wince, but when he looked up to her, he met her pained eyes. "We gotta get out of here." She motioned to the car with a raised chin.

"Okay." He carefully stepped over her wounded leg, looping her left arm over his shoulder, then slid his right arm behind her back to get a good grasp of her armpit.

"On three," Kate winced, her fingers cinching into the fabric of his jacket collar, "one, two, three-aaAH!" Her command slid into a half-muffled scream as Castle lifted her to her feet. She hopped twice to steady herself, her grip still tight on his shoulder. Steady and composed, she motioned to the car again. "Let's go."

It was another twenty yards to the sedan. Castle kept easy pace along with Kate's hopping, distracting himself from her occasional whimpers and wheezes by counting the steps to the car. The bag of coke bounced along his other side, evidence that was proving itself even more valuable with the wound in Kate's leg. She managed to hobble along, pain throbbing in her thigh as she tried to keep her leg steady. Her right hand still held her gun.

"I was going to invite you over for dinner tonight," She muttered, her breathing heavy with pain, "but it looks like we're going to have get delivery."

"I can cook, you know," He replied, his attention still on the sedan, "I was thinking a drumstick special. Or some extra crispy chicken thighs."

"Mention marshmallows and I will kick you."

"I thought they made a fine addition to the cordon bleu. Just for that, I'm driving." Her intended retort was interrupted by a wince. "Almost there, Kate." They were maybe ten yards away.

"I'm shot, Castle, not crippled. Besides, you'll really get the full observational experience if you're not driving. It's probably easier to think of -mmph- adjectives when you're not speeding away from a sniper."

"This is a little more first-hand account than I was expecting. Then again, nothing's been blown up, frozen, nor are we swimming in the river."

"Yeah, a new record." She pulled to a stop, wobbling on her good leg to try and re-gain her balance. Castle put his free hand on her chest to steady her as she fell forward.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, c'mon." She straightened up and took a hop to the car, her command a direct order rather than encouragement. Castle's arm dropped back to his side, fingertips brushing the corner of the evidence bag still in his pocket.

Another sickening crack filled the air, and Kate toppled forward as an explosion of red spewed from her back, speckling Castle with warm liquid.

"Kate!" He grabbed her madly to keep her upright, his hand gripping her now-wounded shoulder.

She wailed in pain; an angry, frustrated, relentless cry.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Castle pulled his hand away, lowering his grip to her ribcage. She could barely stand, but somehow she still plodded forward with a big hop.

Fifteen feet to the car.

"Castle…" Her voice was a hoarse whisper. He met her eyes, glistening with water, fresh tear streaks running down her face. "I think you should drive."

"Are-" He paused, a smile breaking past the worry in his face, "are you sure? I mean, I think you can handle it."

"Keys… My pocket." She gave him the hint of a smile, still doubled over and hopping on one foot. He pulled his hand away from her chest, both facing the car for the final stretch- they were ten feet away from the driver's side rear door handle.

_CRACK!_

Fire. His chest was on fire. He fell to his back, relinquishing his hold on Kate, either the sudden lack of oxygen or scorching, searing pain abruptly turning his legs to jelly. He was trembling on the pavement, his breathing shallow and rapid. His hand scrambled across his coat, feeling upwards from the brick to the fresh wet warmth in his chest just below his heart. It was a comfortable warmth, like putting on a fleece sweatshirt straight from the dryer on a cold day. He'd always underestimated the heat of the human body. Even freshly exposed to the chill of September, 98.6 degrees was warm.

"Castle!" Kate clambered into his view; somehow he'd managed to toss her aside as he fell, and she'd struggled to get back to him. "Castle, calm down, you're okay." Her voice dropped down to the gasping whisper she'd used that night after Alexis's graduation. Her eyes were wide with panic and worry, tear streaks mixing with the mascara and blood smears on her face. The corners of her mouth pulled into a strained yet reassuring smile, her hair hanging down over his face, tickling his forehead. "You're going to be okay, don't worry, you're going to be okay…" Her lips clasped over his in a comforting kiss and when she pulled away, he couldn't help but smile. She returned the grin, then winced as she sat back on her knees; she needed her good arm to dig through his pocket.

"I'm going to call 911," She explained, as she emerged with his iPhone, already tapping at the screen, "and we're both going to be okay." Castle nodded, his right hand raised in a pathetic reach for her. She gave him a wide smile, and leant her elbow to meet him, her hand occupied as she held the phone to her ear. "Yes, this is Detective Kate Bec-"

The blast knocked her backwards, launching the phone from her hand and splaying her body across the pavement. Castle tried his best to roll over, touch her, see her, but all he could manage was a feeble little cry as he raised his head, any further attempts at moving sent another searing blast of pain from his chest that all but paralyzed him. He clamped his eyes shut and was greeted to a flashback of this latest shot, the smattering of blood spraying from the back of Kate's head, silencing her phone call and leaving her laid out on the pavement just out of his eye line. Her head. She'd been shot in the head.

"Kate!" His shout was little more than a hollow rasp, his strains to sit up little more than pathetic wiggles, his body weakened by a lung deflated with an extra hole that left him motionless, unable to take enough of a breath to even raise his head. He pressed his check to the pavement, ignoring the warm specks of fresh blood that dotted the cold asphalt. She lay on her side, back to him, unmoving. His hand reached out to her again, fingertips grazing the warm denim of her jeans. He squeezed, feeling the soft elasticity of her skin through the fabric. He gave her a gentle shake, begging, pleading for her to respond with a kick or a muttered reassurance, a cough, anything. All he could hear was his own high-pitched inhales, and a slight linger of tinnitus from the gunfire. His phone had skittered across the pavement somewhere above his head, probably not far from Kate's abandoned gun, both out of reach from the wounded writer and his motionless muse.

He looked up to the gray sky, the dull dreariness of autumn approaching New York, September signaling the end of the short summer. No more gunfire from the ghost, who probably thought his job was done, now that the writer lay dying and the cop was-

Castle's vision blurred with tears. Kate's going to be okay, Kate's dead, Kate's going to be okay… The contradictory mantras battled in his brain. He winced yet again, then closed his eyes. With a staggered exhale he held his breath, trying to quiet himself, stay silent as to hear anything from Kate, a wince, a cry, a breath…

Nothing. He felt light-headed, his eyes snapping open as he tried to re-gain his focus. His mind blinked to Derrick Storm, how his PI gone CIA would handle taking a bullet to the chest.

He'd killed Storm. Yeah, Derrick Storm was not the best role model in this situation.

He swallowed the water filling his mouth, tasting the burn of bitter copper. Either he'd bitten himself when he fell or he was coughing it up- the nasty taste of blood drained to the back of his throat.

Somewhere, he caught the faint wail of a siren. It was a sound he'd become naturally accustomed to (as most New Yorkers) but in the eerie silence of the warehouses and the two wounded people less than ten feet from an NYPD ride, the sirens had to mean something. There were no coincidences in murder investigations… She'd taught him that. He wondered what words of wisdom she'd be able to offer after today: "Always wear a vest," or "Don't go anywhere without backup." Maybe something more succinct: "Duck."

The sirens were getting louder now, the shrieks and wails echoing off the walls in a melody worthy of the Trans-Siberian Orchestra. His vision faded- he might've passed out for a second or two- No. He needed to stay awake; he needed to stay conscious, needed to stay, uh, what was another synonym for conscious? His vision faded for another moment while he pondered.

Alert! He needed to stay alert. He was in a battle against his own battered body, his mind trying to function on a dwindling ability to inhale oxygen. Kate. He needed to stay alert to take care of Kate. The paramedics needed to know what happened, needed to know her history of gunshot wounds and PTSD. He needed to call her father and his mother and Alexis…

The sirens reached a crescendo, then seemed to fade away. No, no, no, no, no… He wanted to cry out, let them know he was here; Kate was here. The sky grew dark as his vision narrowed. A woman called out, her voice just barely discernable over the ambulance. Help! He tried yelling back, but fell back into the deepening abyss.


End file.
